


Loneliness

by RemnantHeroine



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Antichrist, Everyone is Dead, Ghost Sex, I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi, Proud Dad Moments, Sadistic Small Children, Sadness, Things that shouldn't exist, ghost rape, multi-ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemnantHeroine/pseuds/RemnantHeroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loneliness is the path to madness where no one will come to find you or save you, you cannot even save yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm... I'm Sorry. Apologies in advance for the soul aching.

Tate had been abandoned by everyone. Violet had broken up with him, Constance didn't give a shit about him after she got her claws into the baby, and Nora was still angry for giving her a ‘defective’ baby. The only solace Tate had was Beau up in the attic. He didn’t hate him for the things he had done, the people he had killed. Then again he wasn’t exactly sure if Beau understood what he had done, but that didn’t matter, he was his only family left and he’d take it. Other than Beau the other ghosts of the murder house avoided him, Dr. Harmon would occasionally put up with him, giving him little ‘therapy’ sessions even if he didn’t believe in them anymore, and Hayden kept yelling at him for being such a pussy for still chasing after Violet so he ignored her now. But he couldn’t help it, he loved her more than anything, and he was serious when he said he would wait forever if he had to. But forever was long, and lonely for the teen ghost. From the attic window he would watch his mother play with his son, raise him like her own, love him like she should have loved her own children. He may have been evil incarnate but he was the angel she always wanted Tate to be but never was. He didn’t even know his name, she never said it where he could hear and she never came to the house anymore, there wasn’t anything to steal anymore Tate guessed, and she had her perfect child, she didn’t need the ghosts of her other attempts at motherhood anymore.

So this was the life of Tate Langdon in the Murder House, wandering around aimlessly, watching the world from the old windows as it passed by without the souls trapped inside the haunted walls of Dr. Montgomery’s home. Today was watching Constance’s house from the window of the nursery the gays had made before their falling out. It was empty now, the red crib destroyed for kindling and the white now in the master bedroom for the baby, the Harmon’s having taken over the house. The others like Tate had been forced to be where they weren’t, like when people were still living here. The sound of Vivian’s cello echoed through the house as he watched Michael rip the life out of the nanny she had gotten for the boy so she could leave the house and for a moment a sick sense of pride washed over Tate. “Like father, like son.” He murmured to himself, now watching and waiting for Constance to come back and find her home a bloodbath. But those plans were interrupted when he heard the groan of the wooden floorboard underneath someone’s feet. “I always thought it was weird that we could still get noise out of the old place. Probably meant to add to the creepiness.” Tate said before he turned his head to look at the intruder, Patrick. He stood hulking in the doorway, staring at the blonde teen almost predatorily. “What do you want?”

“I want you,” Patrick started “To pay for what you did.” He said, not moving from his spot in the doorway.

Tate snorted, “Pay? What did I do?” He asked before he turned his head back to the window. What the teen didn’t expect was to feel a hand on his shoulder before he was thrown to the ground by the strong ghost.

Patrick’s face was red with rage as he stared down at the blonde “You know damn well what you fucking did!” He snapped. He brought his foot down on Tate’s chest, hard.

The teen gasped, even if they were dead ghosts could still hurt one another and fuck did it hurt. After a moment he breathed out a dark chuckle “Technically your fairy boyfriend killed you.”

“You shoved a fireplace poker up my ass! Chad couldn’t do that now let alone when he was alive. You, you sick little fuck, ruined everything! I was almost free, I almost had enough to get out of this stupid house, but no! You had to kill me and now I’m stuck here with him!”

“Careful, don’t want the wife to hear.” Tate drawled and the man growled.

“I don’t care anymore, because of you he knows and hasn’t spoken to me in three years! Do you know what it’s like to be completely alone in this huge fucking house? Where you can hear and see everyone try and pretend to live some normal life and you don’t belong in any of them!” Patrick watched the pain flash in Tate’s eyes and he grinned “No wait, you do. Your little girlfriend dumped your ass once she found out you were her half brother’s baby-daddy. That must have hurt, little psychopath like you finally found someone to enact some sort of feelings out of you and she rejects you.”

“Fuck off.” Tate snapped once he had enough, pushing the man’s foot off of his chest and he got up from the floor. “You don’t know anything, and you should be thanking me for getting your nag off of your back.” He moved to leave the room but didn’t expect to be slammed into the wall, head hitting hard with a thud.

“I know everything, about you little school shooting, your sexcapades with mother and daughter, all because Mommy didn’t love you.” Patrick whined like a child as he pressed Tate against the wall harder, his adolescent frame something the man hadn’t felt beneath his strong hands since he was one himself. That’s when it happened, an evil, sinister, deviant, thought crawled it’s way into his head, and it was too perfect of a way to make the teen suffer for what he had done to him, to them, to everyone in the house really. He deserved it, he'd have to remember that.

"Get off of me!" Tate shouted, his cries finally reaching his captor's ears. That only pissed him off more, it ignited the fire inside of Patrick and he knew he wouldn't feel bad for a second. They were alone, no one would come to his screams, his cries, his pleas for help, it would all be lost to the house and it's secrets. Before he even knew what he was doing himself he was yanking down Tate's pants. The teen's eyes widened "What the fuck are you doing?" He yelled as he tried to push off of the wall and out of his trap.

Patrick growled and pressed his whole forearm against Tate's back, making him lurch forward, the air getting knocked out of his lungs which hurt even if he was dead. "Shut up. It'll only get worse if you struggle."

Tate was going to ask what would get worse but it hit him like a ton of bricks and he began to struggle against the wall more. “No, NO! Get the fuck off of me!” he screamed and a hand clamped down onto his mouth, turning his protests into muffled noises that no one would hear even if they cared.

“I like a struggle.” Patrick breathed and he could feel the body beneath his tense up even more if that was possible. The man made quick work of Tate’s jeans and boxers, letting them fall down without a second thought if this was wrong, if he should be the better person, those thoughts had stopped with his heartbeat, possibly even before that to be honest. Quickly he unzipped his own pants to pull himself out and moved his cock so it was lined up with it’s target. “You might wanna relax, it goes in easier then.” He said quietly against the boy’s ear. In one quick, long motion Patrick forced himself inside of Tate.

Tate screamed bloody murder, tears forcing their way out of tightly closed eyes and they ran down his face, hitting his rapist’s hand still covering his mouth. It was agony, to be forced against a wall, unable to move while Patrick groaned behind him, enjoying himself as he thrusted inside of him again and again. Tate had died before, he had actually died and he had lost the will to exist, but in this moment he felt himself truly and completely die, he could feel what was left of his soul shriveling up and begging to be taken out of it’s misery. But this was the murder house, not the salvation house, so he survived the rape, he felt when the man came inside of him and he wanted to vomit. He pulled out and let Tate go completely, the boy’s body dropping to the floor and instantly curling up into himself.

The man laughed at the fearful action. “I hope that taught you a lesson…” He said, stepping over the teen as he left him alone in the room. He knew there would never be a consequence for his actions. One he was dead, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to a dead man, two Tate would never go to anyone, and three if he did no one would ever believe him, they all hated him for what he had done. Half of the ghosts in the house were his victims, the other half either didn’t know they were dead or didn’t know the others.

So Patrick left the crime scene behind, left Tate bleeding and crying on the floor. He didn’t care anymore, about Chad, about the other ghosts, about his humanity, the man Patrick once was was gone and was probably too far gone to ever come back.


End file.
